


Cheers

by alphvjensen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: British Men of Letters, Episode: s12e01 Coda, Episode: s12e01 Keep Calm and Carry On, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kinda ish, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 21:50:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8302484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphvjensen/pseuds/alphvjensen
Summary: “It could have been this easy, Dean. It could have been painless but you Winchesters always want to go out with a bang.”He moved his head away.“But don’t you know, everyone goes out with a whimper. Even you.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> don't let the title fool ya. have fun with this.

It had been a game of cat and mouse, both of them regularly switching the roles. It had been a risk to take his brother. An even bigger risk to actually kill him but in a life like hers and a job like hers, you don’t get paid to play it safe. She knew all about them. Knew it because she was forced to study them, learn about them, memorize every little thing about them that some days she felt like she knew more about them than they knew themselves. From those damn books to the police records and the psychiatrist reports and the things that she acquired by ear.

However, with everything that she learned about the two of them, she knew leaving his brother some place where he would find him, dead and tied up like some fucking present would impair his judgement. Make him almost down right psychotic but it would make him think irrationally which when dealing with Dean Winchester, that’s all she needed.

He was smart though, smarter than what she thought he would be. It wasn’t as easy as she thought it would be. Not as easy as it was for his brother because if it was then she wouldn’t have a gun pointed at her head, his arms flexed as he held it, a scowl pulling at the corner of his lips and dead eyes staring back at her.

Those dead eyes would haunt her for a while.

“So what?” His voice was calm, calculated, talking as if she didn’t just try to kill him moments ago. He stared at her, looking across the cheaply made table. “That was your game?”

She rolled her eyes, clearing her throat as she crossed her legs as if this was some proper meeting and pointed at finger at the older brother. “Stop being melodramatic, it was nothing personal. Just business.”

Dean scoffed, his arms still not relaxing. “Nothing personal. Killing my brother, wanting to kill me isn’t personal? In what fucked up universe does that equation add up?”

“Why don’t you put the gun down, Dean, we can talk about this.”

“You certainly weren’t game to talk about this when you were slipping rat poison into my coffee.”

“It was just Xanax. You sound just as paranoid as you look.” Her pompous, british accent was making Dean’s skin crawl.

A look of confusion passed Dean’s face and disappeared so quickly that she almost missed it, but finally he asked, “Anxiety medication?”

If she was being completely honest, she was hoping that he would drink the coffee laced with Xanax, tired and worn out from chasing and running and needing just a little pick-me-up. And then, when he yet again missed his opportunity to catch her, fall back into the same old, predictable routine of staring off into space with a bottle in his hand. The combination would make his heart rate slow, make his breathing slow until it was likely for him to lose consciousness. Just some simply chemistry.

Then she she would have taken his passed out, drunk ass into that damn muscle car that he was in love with that would just so happen to drive off a bridge. It was easy enough, simply each and given that most of the American medical examiners were lazy and didn’t care  _ that  _ much about drifters, they would coaxed it down to a suicide. A man who was swallowed up with debt and whatever else he was facing and couldn’t take it anymore and did the only thing that he could do. It was clean and effective and didn’t necessarily get her hands dirty. And she knew that it would work because she’s done it before. Several times.

“You know, maybe if you were a pharmacist you wouldn’t be in this situation.” She said through a small smile.

“Oh, so you’re joking now?” Dean took a small step closer to the woman, closing the gap between the two of them until it was only a couple of feet. Yes, he was tall, just like his brother. He seemed even taller being that she was looking up at him in her seated position. She should have felt scared, felt the bile in the back of her throat. All it would take would for him to just pull the trigger and then she would have failed, her mission only halfway complete. Only she wasn’t. She was calm, her breathing relaxed, which Dean, the keen observer he was, noticed it. “I’ve got a fucking gun on you and you’re  _ mocking  _ me?”

“You act like this is the first time I’ve had a gun on me.”

“So do you really not have a soul or is this just an act?”

“Depends…” She shifted her weight, crossing her legs the opposite way, all the while keeping her eyes on Dean’s. “Which one is more likely to work?”

_ Pause. _

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t just kill you right here and right now.”

She laughed, a sound that cracked around the motel room and stood, causing Dean to take another step towards her, his face hardened. Any other person would have turned, tucked tail and run. His face was nothing more than a silent promise of her death but she could feel her blood dance around in her veins with excitement. She wanted that anger, that fury, that loathing. That need for revenge for his brother.

She took a step forward, coming up to stand in front of him until the gun was mere inches from her heart. Dean watched her, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched and she honestly resisted the urge to keep from smiling. It was a really, really bad idea on his part to let her come this close, step up against him but he was most likely underestimating what she could do. What she has done. The good thing about being a woman that held her small frame was that no one expected her to do anything of real damage. That was all the way up to the moment that she held their still beating hearts in her hand.

“No reason at all, Dean.” He was silent, only stared at her while she stood on the other, dangerous side of his gun. She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe humanity is protecting me right now, who knows.”

“Tell me right now that you’re a demon and that you have a reason for being so heartless.”

She smiled and shook your head.  “I am nothing like them.”

“So, you’ve been tracking me these past weeks all to kill me?” She only stared, not even flinching when Dean pressed the gun even harder against her chest. She was reacting like she should have and that made Dean’s blood boil. He wanted her to react, show something that proved that she was human but there was nothing on the perfectly clear skin of hers. “You’ve had you’re chance to kill me countless times up until now.” He knew that, was well aware of that. Even though he thought he was ahead of her, he never was. Not truly. “You could have killed me and yet you didn’t.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Not really my style.”

“What killing people?” The sarcasm could have been heard miles away.

She rolled her eyes. “You Americans. Always so simple minded. No. Shooting people. It’s too loud, too messy. Draws too much attention.”

“Oh, but poisoning people is better?”

She didn’t speak, choosing to stare at Dean instead. Finally, after several moments of neither one of them talking she nodded towards the gun.

“So I take it you’re not going to kill me?”

Dean was silent.

So she counted to five. Five straight seconds of absolute silence and those five seconds she knew what was going to happen. Or, rather, what wasn’t going to happen. If she wanted something to happen, she was going to have to be the one to make it happen. Just like always.

It happened quickly. Drop, wrist, heel of her hand, kick the legs out, grab the gun.  Turn, dodge the swing, over the chair, tip it toward him, drop magazine from the gun, toss the gun across the room, separated. Get a blow to the back, don’t let it stop her, drop and roll out of the corner, hop over the table, pull blade from holster, turn to face him.  Load knees, knife ready, ears perked.

She stared at Dean from across the table, noticing the sweat beginning to bead at his forehead while he wiped some of the blood from his nose after he hit it against the floor from when she kicked his feet from out underneath him. There was a fire in his eyes while he stood in front of her.

She took him in, noticing everything about him. His knees were slightly bent, his shoulders were broadened and his arms swaying far out to his sides while he subconsciously tried to buffen his stance to intimidate.

So she smirked and shrugged, her legs still loaded and the blade in a relaxed grip in her hand while she waited for him to do something. Still he just stood there, looking at her, doing nothing at all. He was calm, which was completely unlike him but she wasn’t going to dwell on it too much. She couldn’t. Not when she was this close.

“Are you going to dive over this table toward me, Dean?” She taunted.

“You’re real fucked up, you know that?”

“It’s rude to answer a question with a question.” She shrugged when she said that, taking a step back to counter Dean’s step forward.

Knives were all about footwork.

And Dean didn’t have the feet for it.

“What ever happened to get you like this, huh?” Dean wiped his nose with the back of his hand, his body still incredibly defensive and ready to move at a second’s notice. He looked her up and down, nodding once more. “Something must have fucked you up if you really aren’t feeling a damn thing right now.”

“People are real quick to assume everyone is good.” She turned to the offensive, taking a step toward Dean. She smiled when she saw the slight fear in his eyes as he took a step back. “That’s the kind of thinking that’s got you on the opposite side of the blade, Dean.”

“But you’re too far to get me,” Dean straightened out and held his arms out to his sides, his eyebrows high and a smile on his face while he stared at her. “Come and try me, sweetheart, I dare you. I promise I won’t go down without a fight.”

She laughed. Fucking Americans and their motherfucking pride, always thinking that they were better than everyone else. Invincible to everything that’s thrown their way.

“I don’t think you know what you’re up against right now.” She narrowed her eyes when she said that, her mind bouncing around at Dean’s stance, what he was offering while she was speaking.

She knew he had a knife in his jacket, another one in his boot. He was always heavily armed, always felt naked when he wasn’t packing some heavy heat. The open arms was all too clear that it was a trick. He was probably thinking that she was going to take the opportunity to lunge at him, try to take the easy shot that he was seemingly offering to her but she stood her ground. She had been through this same scenario too many times to fall for that. She had too many people at knifepoint to fall for that.

Talk about one of the oldest tricks in the book.

She felt a growl starting to form in the back of her throat when Dean took a step forward, a step towards her. Annoyance and irritation prickled at her skin when she watched him smile and tilt his head to the side. He shrugged.

He was mocking her.

“You really can’t feel anything, can you?”

“I didn’t even have to say it for you to know.” She smirked then in a mockingly sweet voice asked, “Are you psychic?”

Silence.

Dean’s face softened, his jaw twitched and he dropped his arms to the side. His body language screamed that he was disappointed. So fucking disappointed that she didn’t take the easy bait. That she didn’t try to lunge for him.

“Are you going to try to kill me?” He asked after a moment.

“No.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose when she said that. Shock quickly played across his face before it all disappeared and an understanding look settled in his eyes. He nodded once and she knew that he realized what she meant. Maybe not all Americans were stupid. “You’re going to succeed, right?”

She sighed in irritation, boredom. “Now I know why they always say that quick death is the way.”

“You don’t like to talk to your food?”

“It’s annoying.”

And with that, she threw the knife as hard, as fast as you could, putting everything that she had behind it and Dean was obviously not expecting it since she had the barest opportunity to laugh as she saw the blade sink into the right side of his torso. He barely had any time to react before she jumped over the table and lunged at him, just like her wanted her to, removing the knife and diving to the side.

Dean swore and pulled a knife from his pocket while he stumbled backward, then threw it at her with just as much speed and accuracy as she used toward him. She hardly felt it when it zipped past her arm and sliced her bicep. It was a wound that she was used to and a wound that would have been so much worse if Dean wasn’t so damn predictable and she hadn’t rolled to the side.

She fell against the bed before flipping and getting back to her feet. She readjusted her grip on the knife.

He had too much adrenaline. He didn’t acknowledge his wound.

He charged.

Sink, side, knee him in the stomach, push him to the side. Run, table, turn, swipe the knife (got his cheek), smile, grunt when as she gets a blow to the stomach. Blow to the face.

She stumbled to the side and swinging the knife again, feeling it hit something.

Sharp pain in her stomach, flesh wound, swipe, nothing deep.

And damn, that was her favorite shirt. Just another reason to gut him like the dog he was.

Jump, avoid leg shot, kick up, hear knife clatter to ground.  Elbow arm down, kick the knee, watch him crumple but stay upright, her knee is in his stomach. One, two, three knees to his wound until he falls onto his side and his shoulders collapse.

Dean was lying on his side on the ground at the foot of the bed, blood pouring from his stomach, his arm, his cheek, but he stared at the bed with clenched eyes while he tried to keep from bleeding out of his stomach. Somewhere, there was an internal wound, probably a couple of broken ribs that had nicked his lungs. He would be dead in no time but she couldn’t help but grab him by the hair, turn him onto his back, laughing as she kicked the final knife away that he was trying to grab.

Even if she didn’t kick the knife away, it would have been a weak attempt to stab her. He was dead. His body drained of any and all strength. Killing his brother had taken his will to live and all she had to do was break his body.

She settled over him, straddling his hips.

She pulled his head up by his hair, bringing the butt of the knife down high up on his cheekbone, forcing him to open his eyes. Forcing him to look at the last thing that he would ever see in his pathetic life.

He coughed, spitting out blood.

So there was most likely a punctured lung.

She smiled.

She ducked her head, grabbing Dean by the chin, holding his face. Their noses were almost touching, nearly touching and Dean didn’t have the fight in him to move away. “Before you die, I need to tell you something, Dean.” He voice was low, a whisper.

Dean stared up at her, his jaw working. He swallowed once before he snarled and spit. “You can save it, bitch.” 

She closed her eyes for just a moment, running the back of her sleeve down her face, wiping away the blood and saliva before looking back down at Dean.

“You’re going to want to hear this.”

He stared up at her, his eyes searching her face before he laughed. Dean laughed. Mind you, it was a weak and feeble attempt at a laugh, but a it was a fucking laugh nonetheless.

He laughed.

He fucking laughed at her.

She swallowed the urge to skin him right then and there, managed to keep herself from digging out his eye while he lay on the ground in front of her, maybe cut out his tongue while he was still alive on damn principal alone. She swallowed, calming herself.

“You laugh?”

“You act as if I actually care.”

She considered him for a moment, running the back of the knife down his face, along that jaw of his, down to the hollow of his throat. “Maybe you should.”

He remained motionless, not giving her the satisfaction of indulging her in the back and forth but he was giving her satisfaction nonetheless. The silence was giving her even more than what she wanted. The silence was an invitation to tell him what she wanted to say.

“Well..” She flipped the knife around, letting the blade dip across his knife, cutting the soft flesh that was below the steel. She pouted her lips and tilted her head to the side, feeling her heart rate beginning to increase. Her adrenaline was pumping now, pure energy rushed through her veins while she anticipated his face, anticipated how this man would look when she finally told him.

She wasn’t simply the pawn that was sent to kill him. She was the queen that controlled everything

That was always her favorite part. Watching them die. The power, the life that she held in her hands while she watched their eyes go from living to something that once saw. They were dark when they died, the eyes, they were unmoving and they glossed over; when their breathing stopped, when she saw the little pulse on the neck stop…

There’s nothing better. That control. That power. This was a living, breathing human being, someone that had a whole future in front of them and she took that.

So when she looked into Dean’s eyes and prepared to tell him, prepared to tell him that his brother was killed by the same person that was sitting on top of him, she could feel the anticipation. Could feel the butterflies in her stomach and could feel the hitch in her breathing from the excitement.

She laughed.

She bent down, her lips hovering over his ear. “Do you want to know what your brother’s last word was? What his last thought was?” Her voice was still hardly above a whisper. He tensed under her, just the slightest tremble in his muscles. “He told me that you were going to save him. That you were going to kill me.” She paused, letting that settle into Dean’s bones. “Looks like big brother failed.”

There was a single second of still staring when she pulled back and stared into Dean’s eyes, a second during which she prepared herself to see the classic pan of emotions that she had grown to love.

First came disbelief, then shock, then slow realization, then the sadness. It ranged from three to thirty seconds, depending on the person, but that’s always how it went.

Always.

So when she felt herself get bucked up, over Dean’s head, when she felt her eyes get wide while her lungs voided their oxygen thanks to her back hitting the ground, she was a little more than confused.

However she wasn’t shocked.

Neither was she dazed.

Just confused.

That was  _ not _ the reaction. That was not supposed to be the reaction that she got. Where was the sadness, the crushing pain in his chest when he realized that his brother died cold and wet and in pain thinking that his strapping big brother was going to ride in on that white horse and save him?

The fucker was taking away her right to see his death and that was not okay.

And all at once he was on top of her, his hands shaking while they held a knife at her neck but she held that knife, kept it from digging in.

She laughed, didn’t even feel the blade while it dug into her right hand in her attempt to keep it from slicing into her neck, which only made Dean angrier.

Adrenaline. She fucking loved adrenaline.

There was nothing like it. Not sex. Not alcohol. Not drugs.

“Shut the fuck up.” he growled at her, all of his weakness seemingly gone.

She was still smiling, staring at Dean while he tried to get the knife down on her neck.  His arms were shaking, not from adrenaline or anxiety but from weakness and she knew he was using all of his strength to get that knife down on her. There was no way he was going to survive.

But she was going to watch him while he squirmed. And she was going to fucking enjoy it because that’s what he got.

He drew this out. He used resources that she didn’t want to use. He made her sleep in sleazy motel rooms and eat greasy diner food coated in trans fat. Even the salads tasted unhealthy. He dragged this out into something that took weeks instead of a couple of days. This is what he deserved.

To die with just a little bit of hope and the knowledge that he could have killed the person that killed his brother so slowly if only he had pulled that trigger when he had the chance.

If fucking only.

“He cried out your name every night. Quite frankly I was growing tired of it.”

Dean didn’t react, only pushed the knife harder into her hand but she didn’t feel anything. She continued.

“You know, at first he didn’t believe us when we told him that you were still alive. He refused to believe it because he thought that you had saved the world. Stopped the darkness by giving yourself up. But then we started showing him pictures of you, of your mom. Which, by the way, stopped putting up a fight the moment that I told her that I had killed her two sons.” She growled when he added an extra bit of pressure, but only matched it with her own.

“You’re lying.” Dean growled, his breaths coming out of his mouth now, harsh and angry.

“What reason do I have to lie to you?” She snapped back. “You’re about to die, there’s no reason for me to lie to you. Do you really…” she turned her head when she pushed with her arms even harder, only now beginning to get tired from this battle.  Within seconds she was looking back at him, her eyes wide.  “Do you really think that I would be stupid enough to just kill one Winchester? To kill the hydra, you have to cut off all the heads.”

Silence, only a battle.  A grunt here and there.

“But your brother, oh your brother, I haven’t had that much fun in years. Granted, he was stronger than I thought he would be. Took a lot longer to break than I thought it would take. Oh but when he broke, Dean, it was beautiful.”

“Shut up.,” He pushed with all his might, stopping her from what she was saying, the blade digging in even deeper into her hand. If she had enough in her to care, she would have sighed but she was now irritated. She was tried to playing this submissive little girl, letting Dean push her around like this and now that she was going to have to stitch up her hand when she left her, she kicked a knee up, hitting Dean, causing him to loosen his hold. Then she rolled him over to the side.

It was funny how quickly the table could turn. Just like that she was back on top, the knife pressing up against his knife against his throat. She could have pressed harder if she wanted to, really end it but instead she held the knife, pressing it into his neck just hard enough to make it hard for him to breath but not hard enough to cut the skin.

She felt him fight but he didn’t do anything. He didn’t have the fight anymore.

She got close to him.

Blood coated his body, a sweet, metallic smell that clung to the air. She could smell the sweat that was sticking to him.

“He believed in you all the way up to the last second that I put that bullet in that pretty little head of his.”

“Stop.” Dean whined, the sound of his voice sounding so very weak.

“Your name was the last word that he uttered.”

“Please…” He was begging now. And she smiled. Only dead men begged. “Stop.”

Dean struggled, just a little bit more as he stared up at her, that fight in him still hadn’t died out yet. It was something she expected. His raw instincts were going to give up that easily. But when he finally looked up at her, those last few seconds to look up at her, when he finally looked at her without the blind fury…

She saw it.

He had stopped fighting all together. His arms fell limp to his side and her hand twitched to slice open his throat at his sudden decision to quit. But she didn’t. She stared down at him and he looked back but there was nothing and she finally realized what he was saying. What he was really saying.

He was done.

“There…” She threw the knife to the side, out of his reach, out of your reach. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Faux sweetness slipped past her lips. She ran a hand along his cheek, feeling the knot that was starting to form along his cheekbone from when she had hit him earlier.

Dean didn’t fight, didn’t try to swat her hand away or move his head. He didn’t do anything. He laid there, his eyes closed. Instead, he moved toward the hand, just ever so slightly, body seeking out some kind of affection, taking what he could get before he wouldn’t get it anymore. She clicked her tongue and tilted her head to the side, a smile on her face because the great Dean Winchester had finally broken.

Just like his brother had.

“It could have been this easy, Dean. It could have been painless but you Winchesters always want to go out with a bang.”

He moved his head away.

“But don’t you know, everyone goes out with a whimper. Even you.”

And then he opened his eyes, his body all to still and would never move on his own accord again.

But she frowned.

Then she started to scowl.

She felt something in her gut twist as she stared down at him and saw the death that was in his eyes despite the fact that his heart we still beating. She saw the emptiness there and it was so much different than it was at the beginning of the night.

Dean had already died. He died when he had his eyes closed and he was just waiting for his body to follow.

And that wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

She didn’t know the first thing about emotions, that was taken from her when she was young but she knew, at least from experience, that his eyes were supposed to be wide in fear when he died. People, fucking normal people were supposed to be scared and they were supposed to be sorry and she was supposed to see every single regret play across their face.

That’s how it worked.

But he stared at her, his eyes completely void of everything just waiting for the moment for his heart to stop… almost as if he was welcoming death.

She grabbed his face, seeing how he didn’t even react and snapped Dean Winchester’s neck.

She kicked his side when she stood up, looking around the room at the damage that the two of them had caused, making a beeline to the alcohol that was sitting on the counter. She wrapped her cut hand before pouring herself a glass, raising it in a toast to Dean.

“Cheers.”

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts, comments, and opinions are always welcomed.


End file.
